Brooding
by Hopeful Writer
Summary: Ron is contemplating life after Hogwarts, when Hermione helps him to realize that he can do anything he puts his mind to. Slight RHrm at the end, but mostly a friendship fic.


_Disclaimer: If JK Rowling was dead, she'd be rolling over in her grave at the thought._

_A/N – I was reading something, and I came up with a paragraph that would be good in a story, then I wrote the story... it was something amazing, that's for sure. I've been suffering from some severe WB recently (that's Writer's Block for those who didn't pick it up), and this helped ease the pain a bit. Enjoy!_

_Summary: Ron is contemplating life after Hogwarts, when Hermione helps him to realize that he can do anything he puts his mind to._

**__**

**_BROODING_**

By: Hopeful Writer

Ron Weasley was brooding. He was holed up in the Astronomy Tower, no questions asked, lunch and dinner forgotten, best friends be damned, studying be screwed, brooding. He had been up there for roughly four hours, which put his friends in a bit of panic considering he told them he was going to the bathroom.

But when you're brooding, nothing else matters but your thoughts. And Ron's thoughts were the perfect kind for brooding.

Ron Weasley was brooding on his life after graduating Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Ron had been eleven years old for a very long time. In fact, he'd been eleven since he was about nine, when the twins had first gone off to school, for Ron felt he had always been on the same mentality as the twins. The problem was, once eleven came and went, Ron hadn't grown up. Hermione had grown up. Harry had grown up (although, Ron reasoned, Harry had never been a little boy to begin with, so maybe he hadn't changed that much). But Ron was still the same little boy he had been when he first entered Hogwarts.

Sure, he'd grown considerable inches, putting him at an intimidating 6 foot 4 inches. He'd even filled out, adding some muscle through his intense Quidditch workout (which he had devised himself). His hair, which used to be bright orange, had toned down to a manageable burgundy. His voice had deepened, he'd developed hair in all the right places, and, most importantly, he'd lost his virginity to Luna Lovegood in a desperate moment before the final battle when he realized he didn't want to die without experiencing sex (she may have been off her nut, but she really knew what to do with those hands).

Otherwise, Ron really didn't feel he'd changed.

Okay, perhaps he'd wizened up to the ways of the world a bit, for having one's life threatened for six years consecutively often did that to a person. And perhaps his knowledge of curses, hexes, and defense spells was a bit... broader than before. And, of course, he view of girls had changed a little.

But in the ways that counted most, Ron Weasley was still a little boy.

He had no future, no plans, no goals, nothing. He'd never given any thought to life after school. He always assumed that time would never come. After all, what eleven-year-old knows what he wants to do with his life?

Hermione and Harry knew what they were doing. Hermione was going to take some mediwitch classes with Madame Pomfrey while she apprenticed to take Professor Flitwick's job in a few years when he retired. Harry was going off to be an Auror. Everybody was asking him why he didn't join Harry; even Harry had asked him a couple times. But the truth was, Ron wasn't really cut out for the hero business. All he ever did was save Harry's butt a few times. If he did decide to apply for the Auror Academy, he would only be doing it for Harry anyway.

So, two months before graduation, Ron Weasley sat brooding in the Astronomy Tower, wondering what he could do with himself. And he came up empty-handed.

_I'm just not good at anything_, he realized with a heavy heart. _I can't have a job and a career if I'm not good at anything_.

He hung his head in shame. Perhaps if he'd listened to Hermione or his mum or Percy more, he wouldn't be in this mess. Perhaps if he'd studied harder, or practiced more at Quidditch, or _something_, he would know what the future held for him.

He was just about to move for the first time since he'd gotten there when the door banged open behind him. He spun around breathlessly, yanking out his wand in the process. When he saw Hermione standing in the doorframe, he let out a sigh, lowered his wand, and beckoned her to the windowsill. Some habits still hadn't faded.

Hermione didn't comment on his reaction, merely settled next to him and nestled her head in the crook where his shoulder and neck met. He rested his arm on her shoulder, hugging her close in a display of affection so common between them nowadays. Harry rarely joined in, being a man of personal space, but Ron and Hermione had a very close bond since the final battle.

"You've been in the bathroom for an awfully long time," she teased finally, her voice deliberately light.

He smiled wryly despite himself. "Yes, well. Must be something I ate."

"Mmm," she agreed drowsily. "Knut for your thoughts?"

"I'd like to think they're worth more than that."

She giggled melodiously, and Ron smiled at the happy noise. She'd been very depressed since the war and the tragic death of her parents, and every iota of happiness was proof that she was moving on. "Okay," she retorted in a joking manner, "a Sickle then."

"Say Galleon and you've got a deal," Ron countered, just as playfully.

"Galleon for your thoughts," she recited dutifully.

"Alright, pay up."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly. "You're evading."

His lips twisted into a faint grin as he turned his head so she wouldn't see. "Yeah, maybe," he finally replied as she punched his arm lightly.

"Why?" she asked. "What can you possibly be thinking that you wouldn't want to share with me?"

"How much I'd like to see you in your knickers," he answered promptly, smirking as her face reddened.

"Ro-on!" she whined, punching him again. "I'm being serious."

Ron bit back the comment he was about to make pertaining to Sirius Black and instead pulled away from her to draw his knees up to his chest in a particularly vulnerable position. "What's wrong, Ron?" she asked again, this time touching his arm in a soothing manner.

He sighed, crumbling. "We graduate in two months. Two months, and we have to go be productive members of society. Everyone knows what they're going to do but me. Everyone _has_ something they can do but me."

There. It was out in the open now, and he didn't dare look at her for fear of the disappointment he would see in her eyes. "Oh, Ron," she breathed sadly, "is that what you think?"

"Why should I think it?" he demanded roughly, feeling raw emotion bubbling through his veins. "Everyone's got this little niche they fit into, something that they're made to do. What about me? I've got nothing. I'm just this redheaded, freckled lunk of a person who's not good enough to do anything!"

Not three seconds later did he hear a loud _SLAP!_, accompanied by a stinging sensation on his left cheek. "Ow! Dammit, Hermione, what was that about?" he snapped, lifting a hand to the place where she'd slapped him.

"Ronald Weasley, I never want to hear you talk like that again," she ordered, her voice ringing with gravity. She took a deep breath, her eyes shining. "You are... Ron, you're amazing. You are truly the most loyal, most selfless, good-hearted person that I've ever met. You will do anything for your friends; you've proved that by protecting me and Harry time and time again. You... Merlin, don't you even _see_ this?"

A few tears leaked from beneath closed eyelids as she continued, "Harry, he's made to be an Auror. He's fought evil his whole life, and he doesn't know anything else. Even if he wanted to play Quidditch, his conscience wouldn't let him shirk his self-appointed duties for very long. And me, I'm going to be a teacher or a mediwitch because, really, that's what's expected of me, and that's what I enjoy doing. But you, Ron, you can do anything. If you try hard enough, you have the power to do anything you want."

She was fully crying now, and Ron thought his jaw had landed somewhere around his lower stomach. It took him a moment to find his voice before he choked, "You think that much... of me?"

"Oh, Ron!" she cried, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. He staggered for a moment before righting himself and hugging her back. They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before Hermione whispered, "Whatever you choose, whatever path you finally pick, I'll be there. And I'm so proud of you, no matter what."

He gave a breathless laugh. "Thank you," he replied in the same low voice.

She pulled away and took his hand, smiling guiltily. "Now come on. I told Harry I was returning a book to the library, and you've been in the bathroom for four hours. Let's go before he has all of Gryffindor Tower looking for us."

Just before they left, Ron stopped and took both her hands in his. "Hermione," he said soberly, looking her dead in the eyes. "I meant what I said. Thank you so much. I... I really needed that."

Hermione smiled and kissed his cheek. "You know what, Ron?" she asked pleasantly as they began to walk again. "I think I did too." And she kissed his lips firmly, pulled away, and continued her stride, not even blinking when Ron gathered his wits, ran up to her, and kissed her senseless.

THE END

_A/N 2 – Sorry, just a quick question, to be answered hopefully in a review. How do the names Andrew Brendan Morgan, Riley Catherine Moore, and Andrea Marie Lewis sound (for my original novel)? If you don't like them, please offer suggestions as to better ones (without changing the first names). Thanks!_


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